


On the Battlefield

by LadyBorgia



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, Fantasy, Magic, Magic vs the Mundane, Medieval, Witches, World Building or at least an attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 14:57:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4396304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyBorgia/pseuds/LadyBorgia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a darkness to be had, in dealing with the Witch</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Battlefield

The war would never be won, not by those casting red and silver, or those bearing green and black. Marion fought long enough as the runner to know that the fight may die for a few months or so, but the war raged on between the two kingdoms. 

Her duty, simply as they tell her, was to get behind the shields and take out a central witch. Simple, because it sounded so. The task was far more chaotic. Witches were protected by the witchguards. If she took out a few of the witchguards before her death, the next runner may succeed in killing the witch.

A long bow sat on her back, a dagger on her hip as she slunk through the marsh, surrounded by the mists aided with poison. The scarf she wore, dipped into one potion or another, fended off the worst of the poison. Had any of her comrades marched through, their lungs would have filled with blood long before they made it to where she stood.

Still, she couldn't stop the odd cough, feeling the blood spit on her tongue. A witch had done this, she knew, but there was nothing to stop it for herself to have safe passage. Their own witches were limited, runners having taken out three of their best in the last few days. She'd make do. She'd finish this war and then ask to return home to her village. Tristian would allow that, maybe.

A shadow darted close, an animal's long, grey ears twitching against a drowned tree curiously, before running off as it noticed her. 

Hunger made it known in her belly, before Marion stepped on. She couldn’t eat, not from anything that thrived in the marsh. 

Thickets of strange greys and browns grew, long and dried against the marsh, though their stalks burst with blood red berries, waiting to be touched, shouting that they were poison, but maybe, if you try me, I might sate that coldness in your belly.

Marion pulled the scarf tighter around her face, breathing in the pungent, bitter taste of the potion as she moved onwards. The sun would fall soon, and when it did, she’d be plummeted into darkness. She needed to find higher land before then.

Smoke drifted from the distance and Marion’s brow’s rose. It couldn’t be soldiers, no one could survive the poison over the marsh. Unless the end of the mist was soon over?

No, information from a scout said that the mist overlaid five leagues eastward at least, she’d barely travelled two. There was a chance she’d lost her direction, a traveller’s spell cast over the mist, though such a spell would require more magic than the enemy had. She doubted that they’d spend the money on resources just to cause disorientation in a poisoned mist.

No, more likely a witch was traveling. 

The bow pulled from her back, slipping into her hand quietly as she pulled an arrow from her quiver. The arrow laid still, loose against the bow as she crouched in the marshland. The smoke had to be a trap luring her close. Somewhere, a witch was biding her time until she came into their sights.

Marion stepped closer, her eyes watching for any movement, ear prickling for any sound. She moved forward, diverting off her eastern path to more northern, toward the witch’s trap. Quietly brushing through the grass as her boots sunk quietly in the mud and water, Marion kept her breath low. In her chest, she could feel the slow, steady beat of her heart, pumping louder with each step.

The same creature who’d skipped past her before now was paused, drinking from the water not three lengths in front of her. A small creature, with a round head and round, long body. Two long ear were pressed back against its head, listening lazily as it drank. Marion glared, pulling back the arrow to aim at it. No animals would enter poison territory. “Witch,” she hissed, letting the arrow fly. It struck through the animal’s head, killing it instantly.

A large black feathered bird sung from above, flying off the branches of a dead tree. Stupidly, Marion hadn’t noticed it. With the animal dead, she now realised that the long-eared creature had been a distraction.  

The bird was possibly a familiar, calling back to its master or mistress. Perhaps both. 

_Fuck._

Marion pulled another arrow from her quiver, walking past the dead creature only to pull her arrow free before tossing it back with the others. She’d clean it later, if there was a later.

It’d been a rookie mistake, not to notice the bird. Her eyes should have been everywhere. She _should_ have looked for any creature that was above the mist. 

She swallowed back the resentment, furious with herself as she continued in the marsh. Plants dragging against her skin where armour didn’t quite cover, her boots sinking, pushing through mud and water as she felt creatures move around in their home.

A reflection caught her eye, three soldiers wearing armour different to her own. They were to the South and seemed to be arguing. Lowering in the marsh, she moved closer, trying to catch their colours. Why would three of her comrades be here? Unless, these soldiers had a witch with them. Marion tensed. They were far enough away that they probably hadn’t seen her as she blended in the thicket of plants.

Stepping closer and closer, she found herself slowly hearing conversational words. The odd enunciated _fuck_ or _lost!_ The lilt of the words giving away their colours as foe rather than friend.

It didn’t take much to piece what they were saying.

 _Three_ was a difficult number. Once she was close enough that they were in sights, she could either try to pass by them, or attempt to shoot them. The problem being that with three of them, if she shot one, there were still two to come after her.

Marion took a breath, steadying herself as she kneeled into the marsh, feeling the water slide up her thighs. Quietly, she tried to ignore the cough in her throat as she aimed her bow.

Steadily she drew a breath, feeling her heart beat. One, two… _three._

She let go of the arrow, the head flying into the head of a soldier, through his leather helm. The two other’s stared dumbstruck, before jumping away. They were fast, quick to react. Marion dropped low, remaining steady as she held her second arrow tight against the bow, waiting.

She could see the thickets moving. Water rushing as the soldiers ran. She waited, steady, her heart beating fast.

A smile pulled at her lips as she caught sight of another. 

The bow string sounded, arrow cutting through the air before _thunp._ It landed in the target’s shoulder. _Shit_. He could still move. Immobilised to a degree, but still within fighting standards as an experienced soldier.

Third arrow pulled in her hand, before dropping as she jumped out of the way, missing a sword strike just. She hadn’t noticed the third soldier sneaking through the thickets. A rookie mistake.

She watched his eyes narrow, green stones staring down at her as he moved to strike again. He was going to hit. As he swung his strike, he coughed, blood splattering on her as he faulted. She jumped to her feet, the sword catching her armour enough to knock her further away, but still lame in attack.

She ran through the thicket, catching sight of the dead tree, near where she saw the long-eared creature. Running towards it, she ducked behind, low in a crouch as she waited for the soldier. Long range weapon did no good. She pulled her dagger free and listened as the soldier came. Quickly, she darted out, feigning left, then going right to slide behind him and strike the dagger into his throat. 

She ripped it free, coughing through her scarf as she looked for the other soldier. It’d been a woman, maybe? Possibly a man. It was difficult to tell with the regulated hair cuts and armour. They all began to look the same if you weren’t close enough.

She pulled her bow free, grabbing a new arrow and looked, quietly listening for any sound. _There_. She saw the thicket move, her arrow pulled, not waiting to see before she let it fly. The movement quieted, but Marion didn’t believe it. 

She moved closer, quietly as she pulled another arrow free. The soldier lunged for her and the arrow went flying into their face, the soldier still tackling her to the ground and onto her back into the marsh.

Pulling her scarf off. 

Marion flailed, grabbing her scarf and twisting it back on as she pulled herself free of the limp body. Breathing slowly, she pressed the scarf to her face, her lungs burning briefly from the unfiltered air. _Fuck._

Another day in the poisoned fog, or another attack like that, and she wasn’t going to make it the enemy camp. Fuck, she just might and end up coughing on the porch, begging for them to kill her.

Her eyes looked up at the smoke. If that was their camp, then maybe they had supplies there, potions to make them immune. Though…looking down at the soldier, she didn’t believe so. They’d been lost in the marsh, and one of them had coughed on her.

She looked again to where the camp was, looking up at the sun to check direction before she began moving towards it. A crow sung overheard and Marion grabbed her arrow before stopping. The bird had been watching the battle, this she was sure of as it landed not far away on her a tree, cocking its head at her.

Stalking forward in the marsh, Marion’s eyes looked around everywhere, turning at any noise. She could feel the mist thickening in density, different to the poison. This wasn’t a battle witch, this was a Marsh witch. Perhaps the poison hadn’t come from the enemy after all. The three soldiers probably didn’t know what they were getting into.

No matter, now, she knew. She was being watched by a hundred eyes; from the beetles in the water, to the insects in the air.  Their mistress waiting, observing until the right time to strike.

However that meant.

She had two options. Leave the Marsh witch’s territory and continue towards the enemy grounds, sneaking behind the guards where survival was slim. Or she could go to the witch; offer services in turn for a night’s rest and food.

She chose the former, deciding that the Marsh witch was an unknown darkness. If she chose isolation, she chose the space for a reason. Rather than face the person, she travelled on, continuing east at the last moment, than towards the smoke, but just as she turned, moving to make the decision, the large black bird returned above her head.

The bird dipped forward in flight towards her, twisting into smoke before landing in front of her not as the winged creature, but as a woman. Shorter than Marion, but with brown skin and darker, browner curls. Her dress was made from a multitude of darned fabrics as if the leather of the bodice wore off so she strung it over a green and black dress that shredded over the skirts. Feathers and stones adorned both the dress and the witch’s hair, and tattooed could be seen, inking a pattern along one, bare arm.

“Well, well, what little soldier do I have running around the corners of my territory?” she spoke, her accent sharp against the common tongue, different to the lilt the enemy soldiers had.

“I have been called Marie,” she spoke of a name, once called by her fellow comrades but far enough from her true name that she neither spoke truth or lie. 

“I see,” the Marsh witch said, seeming to taste the name on her lips. “And where are you headed, dear Marie?”

“East.”

“And from where you come from?”

“West.”

“Clever girl.” The woman lips tilted and a sudden uneasiness filled Marion. She needed to leave. Though nothing outside of a gut feeling could assure her either way, Marion knew this wasn’t an ordinary Marsh witch. “You must be chilled to the bone,” the woman stated, stepping closer. “There’s a fire in my house. A warm bath to offer.”

“I could not impose, dear lady,” Marion said, bowing to the witch politely, though her bow was stiff. “I cannot leave my mission, I should continue on, east.”

“And what’s east for you?”

Marion swallowed, a thousand lies that would have her killed instantly coming to her lips. Instead, she spoke a truth, “I have to find shelter before dark.”

“I will give you shelter,” the woman said, turning to where her home was, suddenly near Marion though she was sure it’d been still far in the distance before. “Come, soldier. I shall feed and bed you tonight.”

Marion’s chest pulled, stories whispering in her ear before the smell of a roast found its way to her nostrils. “For just a moment,” she said, finding her way inside the stone-built house. Her arrow and bow loose in her hands. _Just a moment_. 

She stepped through to the home, past the doorway. A bath was on offer and the witch easily undid the buckles and ties holding her armour to her before allowing Marion to soak into the tub.

The warmth felt good on her aching muscles, though a tiredness fell over Marion. Not a general tiredness from traveling or battle, but a long, aching tiredness from everything. This was the first hot bath she’d had in months, the first time food smelt more than some cheap broth. 

Marion smiled, then coughed, curling up on herself as blood spat into her hands. 

“How long have you walked the marshlands?” the witch asked, looking to her from where the animal was roasting above the fire.

“Since before daybreak.”

The witch laughed. “The _ishtka_ who made your potion is talented, lacking finer skills, but talented no less.” She turned to Marion then, eyes staring over her. “Perhaps I shall call for her.”

The word _ishtka_ echoed in Marion’s head oddly. Familiar in the way it sounded. The word meant _witch_ , that much she grasped from its context. But _ishtka,_ the word itself, felt familiar in a way that maybe she’d read it, her tongue trying to find the pronunciation, but only now realising how it was as the Marsh witch spoke it.

 _Ishtka._  

“Who are you?”

“Many people,” the witch said, smiling at her. “But you may call me the Marsh witch, as I find it quite becoming.”

“You’re not just a Marsh witch.”

“No, of course not. And you’re not ‘Marie from the West’. We all have our secrets. Perhaps I’ll let you keep yours.”

Marion swallowed tightly, moving to stand out of the bath before the witch’s hands sat on her shoulders. “Stay until the water cools. You have my word that no harm will come to you tonight.” There was still the morrow, Marion thought quietly. The words remained unsaid as she chose not to insult the witch.

“Why did you invite me in here?” she asked instead, watching as the witch moved to wash her hair, untangling it from the braid she wore it in.

“Soon,” the witch said. “The better question would be, why did you enter my home if you knew what the consequences may be?”

“I wouldn’t live to see tomorrow if I tried to refuse your hospitality,” she said, staring to the fire in a daze. Fear held loosely in her gut, a distant warning telling her she should leave, but instinct told her to stay, to hear the witch out.

“Clever girl.”


End file.
